


history lesson

by tsunderestorm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Hand Jobs, Office Sex, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Silver Snow Route, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 13:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20892788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Of all of the surprises that Seteth’s vast knowledge of the Church of Seiros and it’s Four Saints could offer, the most shocking to Byleth was Cichol’s status as... some kind of fertility deity?





	history lesson

**Author's Note:**

> This... is self-indulgent. Wow. I took a lot of liberties with the (lack of) information we have of the Saints past what their brief statue descriptions say and decided “Hey, this is the only deity in the doctrine aside from the Goddess with a child, so he’s pretty potent... let’s run with that!”
> 
> While I fabricated a lot of the imaginary tenets, this work still presents (in passing) major spoilers involving Seteth, both for the paralogue battle “An Ocean View” and regarding his identity.
> 
> I sat down and wrote this in one sitting like a man possessed. I just had too much fun! I hope you enjoy it ♥

Seteth found her in the cathedral, deep in thought in the alcove where the Four Saints gleamed brightly in the dancing candlelight.

“Among the many things that I find admirable about you, Professor, is the fact that immediately upon my suggestion that you learn the teachings of Seiros, you did. It warms my heart as well to see that you’ve fulfilled Flayn’s wishes by restoring these statues. Tell me, do you now have a favorite?”

Byleth paused for a moment to consider the question. “I do admire Indech… when I was a mercenary, for so long, strength was all I had. I suppose Macuil is appealing to me as the leader of a class… strategies, and all that. But I suppose that Cichol is my favorite. I don’t really think my father was like him at all, but I can admire a man who cares for his daughter.”

Seteth’s eyes roamed over Saint Cichol’s statue, admiring from the expertly sculpted folds of fabric in his costume to the heavy lance in his hand to the way the statue turned in towards Cethleann’s. “An excellent choice.”

Byleth brightened under the praise. She hadn’t always cared about such things, but lately she seemed to derive more and more enjoyment out of knowing she’d done well, or that someone was happy with her. It was reinforcement Seteth was eager to provide.

“I like that he was stern, but still patient. I think that makes for a good leader. Those are qualities I try to have with my students…” she mused.

“Did you know that Cichol was also revered as a sort of fertility deity?” Seteth asked after a few moments of silent companionship. “It’s not something that someone who hasn’t spent extensive time devoted to studying the teachings would know, but… nonetheless. Cichol is mentioned in certain texts as a patron of fertility. That is why he and his daughter made such a pair… he helped the creation of life, and she aided in the healing of it.”

Byleth turned to him, a brow raised in honest shock. “Wow… and here I thought the Church liked to pretend those things didn’t happen. I’m surprised you can even talk about it!”

Seteth appeared flustered, and she added another victorious tally to the scoreboard in her mind.

Seteth’s voice got a little higher the way it did when he was indignant about something. “The Goddess makes no such distinctions, nor does the dogma of Seiros. Love and lust are, as anything, a part of any life. Simply because one should not discuss it with impressionable minds does not mean that any teachings condemn it. And I think there is quite a bit about me that would surprise you!”

She laughed, bringing her hand to her mouth in rebuke as the sound echoed in the statue alcove. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that… you think more of the students here would be jealous they don’t have the Crest of Cichol if they knew!”

Seteth shook his head, answering her laugh with one of his own. That was precisely why he had kept those texts out of the hands of Garreg Mach’s students… that, and… other reasons. 

“It’s rather inappropriate, but there are… illustrations. Of Cichol, with… well, I’ll be blunt, quite an impressive erection. I have removed them all from the library, of course, and kept them safe in my private collection, but believe me, they exist.”

Byleth stole one more glance up at Cichol’s statue and looked at him with something like amusement playing across her face. It was so hard to tell with those damn unreadable eyes of hers, but her mouth… it curved into a mischievous smile. “Students aren’t allowed but… what if a Professor wanted to see? I think you’ve already taught me just about everything else you know. You might as well teach me about Cichol, the sex god.”

_Not everything_, _Professor. _Seteth tried to banish that thought from his mind for their own good. The last time he’d let himself get lost in those whims… well. He’d barely been able to look at her the next day for fear she’d see the guilt on his face and chafed skin on his palm. Still, sex god… the sound of that was appealing. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to tell this woman, blessed by the Goddess herself that he was… but no, it was too risky. The benefit of an ego stroke he should be ashamed of needing was not worth their safety. But then again, he could trust Byleth.

“_If_ a Professor wanted to see, then I suppose we would proceed as adults, fellow colleagues and equals, even… friends. And I would gladly show my collection and share my knowledge.” Seteth reasoned.

“I just can’t believe that’s a real thing. I’m in awe.”

“Men would pray to him, that they might become stern and authoritative, and that they may sire daughters as beautiful as Sothis, as strong as Seiros… and as kind as Cetheleann. Women prayed to him that… my goodness, this is embarrassing to say, but… that their husbands may be well-endowed and their encounters pleasurable.”

“Women seriously prayed to Cichol for their men to actually know how to fuck? Now that’s a sentiment I can get behind.” She laughed, disbelieving. This was a whole new side of the church she never could have anticipated, a dirty little secret that she’d never forgive herself if she turned down extra knowledge on.

“I’m certain such language is inappropriate for a professor to be uttering in the sacred sanctum of our goddess. If you’re interested in the history of Saint Cichol’s lesser known patronages, we could discuss it in my office.”

She nodded her acceptance, and he held out his arm out for her to lead the way to his office. She did, nodding and offering a cheeky wink as she stepped in front of him. To walk behind her was not an unwelcome sight; to see the sway of her wide hips and the curve of her ass, the tiny glimpses of skin that peeled through her patterned tights. She had such an impeccable body, lovely and supple and perfectly toned - a work of art that told her story in the scars she wore proudly on her arms and legs, the confident way she carried herself.

_Focus._

It was perfectly acceptable to shut the door, he thought, if one was to be showing one’s colleague a collection of items the monastery’s students should not know of. It was also prudent, might he add, to lock the door… simply in the case of an impolite student who may enter without knocking. That was the only reason, of course.

The click of the lock made Byleth’s cunt twinge. She knew (at least, she hoped she did) how this would end… just like it always did. Seteth’s disapproval of her had, to her immense satisfaction, not only lessened but had passed the opposite extreme - he now sought her out for advice and companionship. The next step had been brewing for weeks, flames fanned by every expert move they accomplished together on the battlefield, every quiet moment with their heads together as he taught her more about the Church, every touch of his hand meant to reassure or comfort that lingered enough to leave her skin tingling in its wake. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anyone; wanted him strong and powerful in his wyvern armor, wanted him studious and academic in his elegant robes, wanted him nude and flushed with passion with his skin against hers.

His collection, as interested as she was in a pious saint’s sexual proclivities, was a pretense.

“They are… here,” he said, removing a keyring from a deep pocket and unlocking a heavy drawer, pulling it open to reveal a drawer full of relics and stack of scrolls and books. “It’s modest, but I think it’s nonetheless fascinating.”

She looked over the books as he spread them out on the desk before her: illuminated manuscripts with illustrations of men bearing the Crest of Cichol in various states of undress. Some bore lances, some sat astride dragons with positively bestial, many-ridged cocks of their own, some held women with eyes closed and heads tipped back in ecstasy in their arms. The relics were an assortment, ranging from a disembodied phallus that felt heavy in her hand, covered in leather and worn soft and thin by years of use to a handful of amulets bearing the Crest that had locks of hair from lovers long-dead sealed in their lockets.

Suddenly, Seteth was behind her, solid and warm against her back. A comforting presence, but one that made her breath catch in her throat. Seteth was so… deceptively unimposing. Pressed against her like this, she could feel how broad and muscular he was, could feel the protective strength of his arms as one encircled her waist.

“This is most intriguing,” he said, pointing at a yellowed piece of parchment delicately encased in a leather folio. “This is a poem written over a millennium ago… by a woman who claimed to be visited by Cichol himself. The language is archaic, but she claims here that she prayed, and he answered… and descended from the pulpit of her cathedral fully erect and amorous.”

“You know, I would have thought Indech would be the one women lost their minds over… being a strong warrior, and all that.” she mused, thinking of their statues. Indech’s was impressive, his muscular legs spread and posed in a power stance with bow in hand and arrow nocked.

Seteth laughed. “That’s precisely the thing. Indech was always… well, suffice to say it’s said that he was so focused on battle that he barely paid women a second glance. And Macuil… he much preferred the company of his books and battle maps to the company of anyone.”

She flipped through a few of the books, startled by a drawing of what seemed like an entire village of people all entwined, the figures’ cocks and tits almost comically massive, watched over by a (very self-satisfied looking, if she was being honest) dragon bearing the Crest of Cichol on its own gargantuan cock. “I still cannot believe this… !” 

Seteth laughed against her shoulder, looking over it as he pressed against her bent form. “The wonders of the Church of Seiros never truly cease,” he said, leaning into her neck, breathing in her smell as his hand caressed her hip. “It’s something that, well, like our friend Saint Cichol here… certainly keeps on giving.”

She tossed her head back and laughed, breath hitching as her perfectly presented opportunity was noticed and his mouth found her neck. His lips were warm and gentle, the first kiss a slow, lingering affair that only made the ache between her legs that much worse. His hand left her hip to rub over her belly, moving so low that it made her gasp. His touch was solid, warm, spreading out and lighting a fire in her belly as he sucked gently on her neck. She put her hand over his, fingers pulling up the tipped cuff of his sleeve to trail his fingers over the top of his hand soothingly as his hand smoothed gentle circles on her stomach.

He whispered in her ear, “Would you have prayed for Cichol’s attention, Professor?”

She ran her fingers over the primitive sex toy once more, shrugging and arching her neck to allow his mouth to find a new spot to kiss and suck. “Maybe… could you still pray to him for a good time, even if you didn’t necessary want the fertility part to have children?”

“Certainly,” Seteth answered, trailing his blunt fingernail over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of her shorts. “Cichol was not only a virile sire but a dutiful lover, and even a devoted husband.” 

Byleth turned to catch Seteth’s lips in a kiss, slow and deep, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth before pulling back. “Then… yeah. I just might have prayed to him.”

Seteth’s hand slid deftly beneath her shorts, beneath even her tights and panties to cup her cunt, drinking in the warmth of her with a quiet moan. The hair between her legs was soft beneath his fingers, her skin hot, her folds parting easily for his fingers when he spread her. Her clit was hard and when his fingertip circled it, she jerked in his grasp, lurching forward and grabbing his desk for balance.

Seteth took the ground given and stepped forward, pressing her hard against the edge of the desk, aligning his body with hers as he explored, his finger making a few teasing swipes up the length of her cunt before slipping one inside of her wet, warm hole. His chin rested on her shoulder, lips against her neck, free hand pulling her hair out of his way as he left kisses in his wake. 

She shuddered, leaning forward so she could spread her legs more, rocking back against Seteth so she could feel the press of his cock against her ass. His fingers inside of her were the perfect blend of tender but authoritative… she’d known since they’d gone to Rhodos that he wasn’t a virgin, but this… this was surpassing even the most creative of expectations her lust-fogged brain had given her. Her head was spinning from realizing that holy shit, Seteth actually knew his way around a cunt, and the slow way he was pressing his thumb against her clit was making her dizzy. Her legs were already wobbly, thighs shaking as his free hand left her neck to pop the button on her shorts, rolling the waistband down to get both hands between her legs, slender fingers keeping her spread to his questing fingers. 

“I am… most certain that Cichol would have visited you,” he pants, rocking his hips slow against her to punctuate the sentiment. “I cannot speak for him, of course, but… well. Should you have been pious - as difficult as that is for you, being raised outside the reach of proper schooling, I know - he may very well have alighted from the heavens and shown you the pleasure you are so desperately seeking.”

His fingers were deep inside of her, long (_so_ long, she didn’t think his fingers were that long), and she wanted _more, _wanted his fingers and tongue and cock and _all of him_. “Se...teth,” she gasped, biting her lip to stifle what had almost been a very loud cry, shifting her weight to one hand on the desk so she could reach behind her and grab for his cock. She could feel him through his clothes, hot and hard beneath his cloak, tunic and pants, undoubtedly aching to be free. His cock was a welcome weight in her palm, the object of long-held fantasies, hard just for her as his fingers pressed a spot inside of her that made her vision blur with pleasure. She had no doubt at this point he could fuck her eyes crossed, and it made her want him _more_. He was such a prudish, stuffy academic at first glance… a stuffy academic who had a drawer full of saintly sex art and _fuck_, fingers that knew just where to touch.

“It’s the most hushed historical fact about Saint Cichol…” he continued, and she couldn’t help but think that _only_ Seteth would give her a history lesson with his fingers inside of her, scissoring her open as he pressed his cock against the curve of her ass. “That there could, at one time, even be found… _statues - _cheaply created, of course, certainly not church-commissioned - that had a usable phallus.”

She laughed, hand coming to grip his wrist, to urge him to keep going; more pressure, rougher, faster, she needed it to be _more_. “Women would offer themselves… even their first times, you see… to this statue. It was - or rather, I’m sure it _would be_ \- quite erotic.”

Byleth whined as Seteth’s fingers slowed, his fingers moving agonizingly slowly on her clit, pausing just enough between each bit of pressure so it made her jump each time he touched again.

His teeth found her earlobe, biting gently as he whispered, “Would you have performed such a task?”

Byleth swallowed thickly, trying to find a voice that wasn’t shaking with lust.

“I would have been the first one there when they unveiled it.”

She took his wrists and pulled his hands back, turning so she was facing him and looking up into his eyes. His face was flushed, pupils blown wide with lust and she was absolutely drawn to the _hunger_ reflected there. It made the gnawing ache between her legs that much worse, to stop him when he was just about to drag her shaking over the edge, but she wanted to watch his face the first time he made her come. She _had_ to, and she hoped he knew that as she twined her arms up around his shoulders, fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck and dragging him down into a kiss that left them both breathless.

“Do you think he could feel it?” She asked, panting. “When a woman chased her pleasure on one of those crude statues, do you think he felt it? Do you think it made him hungry?” The backs of her thighs bumped the edge of the desk as she backed against it and nimbly, she lifted herself onto it, pushing Seteth’s collection of naughty church secrets off to the side. Spreading her legs, she tugged him between them, grinding herself down against his cock.

“One would assume,” Seteth said. The true answer was a resounding _yes_, but he could hardly tell her – not right _now_, certainly – that in the least hedonistic way possible, he had enjoyed that particular facet of his old life…

“I bet he secretly loved being the patron saint of pleasure,” she teased, lifting his cloak and tugging on the laces of his pants, loosening them enough to get her hand inside to hold his cock. It felt _perfect_ in her grip, velvety smooth and so _hot_, responding so splendidly to her touches

The sound that left Seteth’s mouth when she tightened her hand around the base was positively indecent. Half-choking on his own pleasure, he sputtered, “Now, he was hardly the patron saint of – ah, _Byleth_ – pleasure…”

Byleth leaned up to kiss him, her tongue delving into his mouth and drawing his into hers. Smiling deviously, she whispered, “I bet it made him shudder. Did it? I mean… do you think it did?”

Seteth turned bright red, flustered. “He did not, I can assure you! I can only imagine it never stopped taking him by surprise… and that, in a way, he was almost grateful when the practice died down. As… enjoyable as it must have been for him, in his younger years, to be the type of man who could sate lust and offer love… “

_She knew_. She knew, and she just wasn’t saying anything. For not expressing emotions well, Byleth was incredibly observant… surely, his true identity at this point could no longer escape her with all of the knowledge she had gained. _Good_. Let her know that he was a saint… let her know that he was divine. Frantic, he pulled back from her long enough to strip off his cloak and tunic and delighted in seeing her shed what little clothes she wore - tights and tiny shorts, those damnable panties that had clung to the dampness of her cunt like a second skin. The tight leather top that kept those beautiful, perfect breasts from his view. Now she was bare before him, her legs falling open as she spread for him, offering him a look at her – the pale green hair damp and sticky with her desire, her eager little cunt pink and wet, her thighs that could so perfectly cradle his hips sweet and inviting.

When he pressed back between her legs Byleth’s hands set to him with a desperate hunger she didn’t even try to hide. She shoved Seteth’s pants down his thighs, fingers playing over his balls as she curled her hand again around his cock, impatient. His cock wasn’t bad… not the biggest she’d seen, but sizeable enough that she let out a moan just at the thought of being stretched around it. She trailed one finger lovingly down the thatch of dark green hair from navel to cock, biting her lip as she brought her hand back up to rub across his chest… fuck, he had the _best_ body hair and she never would have guessed.

“Would he have answered me?” she asked. “Even with all of those women offering prayers?”

Seteth’s groan as she worked her hand on his cock should have been answer enough, he would think… but he answered her all the same. “He would have,” he said, ducking his head to draw one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking softly and working his tongue around it. “Yes, Byleth… I believe Saint Cichol would have been positively enamored with you.”

She tangled her hands in his hair and arched her back, pushing her tits against his face, moaning as his tongue darted teasingly over one nipple and then the other, leaving them so hard they were absolutely aching. She felt so needy, plagued with an undeniable, empty ache, devoid of something only Seteth had. His tongue felt good, and she made a mental note to have him put that tongue to use between her legs at her first possible opportunity… but there was no time for that. This had been too long coming, had been something tangible and hot between them for too many months, that if she didn’t get his cock inside of her, she really thought she might die.

She guided him inside of her in a way that made Seteth’s head spin, hand reaching confidently between her legs and wetting her hand with her own slick need before curling it again around his cock to hold him steady. It was an easy slide, wet as she was, and the noise she made as he spread her open on it was like music to his ears. Better than the most reverent hymn, a sweeter story in one sound than any tale he could write, a sound of pure, relieved bliss that he felt in his entire body. She looked so beautiful it made his heart ache, tugged on strings and stirrings that he hadn’t felt in many, many years. It wasn’t just about having her… it was about loving her. It was about sharing his life with her.

But right now, it was about fucking her. As if the first slide into her hadn’t felt like a divine enough experience, burying himself again and again into the wet warmth of her was earth-shattering. She looked positively indecent splayed out on the desk at which he sat to conduct official church business, tits bouncing with his every enthusiastic thrust and her green eyes cloudy with passion, her moans mingling with the wet slap of skin on skin.

She could have cried when he brought a hand between them and set to work on her clit, fingers slick from how wet she was, finding an easy rhythm to match his steady, powerful thrusts. He was making her feel so good she could barely think, his thick dick inside of her and his skillful fingers teasing her in tandem proving to be just the combination that she needed, and she felt it in her entire body when he pushed her over the edge. It started in her core and blossomed outwards, a white-hot sensation that made her legs shake and nipples ache, left her feeling carved out and hollow even as Seteth’s dick was still deep inside. It felt like it lasted forever, an eternity of pleasure with no end in sight, one long, drawn-out moan escaping raw and unfiltered from her lips.

Hungrily, he watched her come on his cock, hands trailing up her body to squeeze her tits, pinch her nipples gently between his fingers to make her moans become more like whimpers, chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath in the wake of such a powerful orgasm. It had been more years than he cared to count since he’d seen a sight like this, since he’d _felt_ something like this and the feel of her clenched around him was overwhelming. When he’d coaxed her through it, he grabbed her hips and fucked into her in earnest, pulling her against him with every thrust. He was fucking into her rougher than he probably should be but she was a sturdy thing, battle-ready and resilient, and if he had harbored any doubts as to whether she liked things a little rougher, they were gone when she tugged him harder still against her with a foot hooked behind his back.

He didn’t even stop to think about pulling out… not when she was so warm around him, not when her legs hooked tightly around his waist left no room for debate, and he spilled deep inside of her with a loud groan that he was certain anyone passing by in the hallway outside could probably attribute to lovemaking. Embarrassed, he ducked his head to nip at the sensitive skin of her belly, kissing one breast and then the other before his lips traveled to hers. The kiss was devoid of the desperation that had marked the earlier half of their encounter but left the both of them no less hungry; the kind of kiss that they could stay wrapped up in forever… a slow, sated slide of tongues, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies.

Pulling out of her was, regrettably, a necessity, but he didn’t do it gladly… the wet sound of her body releasing him was absolutely obscene and it just made him want to fill her again. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight and it felt right to hold her like this, to smell the scent they made together, to feel the warmth of her skin against his. She was… something special, and he still couldn’t quite believe what had come over him.

“That was… well. A long time coming,” he said, a bit bashfully. “I hope you enjoyed this.”

Byleth laughed, kissing along his jaw as she pressed flush against him, sighing when her still-sensitive nipples rubbed against his broad chest. Laughing, she teased, “Thanks for the history training, Seteth.”

Indignant, he said, “I don’t think that faculty training involves fucking!”

“Ours always should.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I am [tsunderestorm](twitter.com/tsunderestorm) on twitter!


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